Perplexity
by PotterGatsbyHolmes
Summary: So. Much. Johnlock. Roughly placed between Scandal in Belgravia and Hound of Baskerville. Just niceness- WARNING: No kittens.


**Perplexity**

Sherlock paced the floor of 221b impatiently. John was taking so _long. _He'd been scheduled for another full day again and Sherlock was going insane with boredom. Already this morning he'd dissected chicken's eyes, experimented with samples of blood, picked up numerous newly expired body parts from Bart's morgue and ran again through the Oxford dictionary and memorised all the letters starting with 'J'. It was 10 o'clock. John had left only an hour ago to go and (Sherlock shuddered) _care for people. _The thought made Sherlock physically ill. But that's why he was more impatient than usual, wasn't it? After all, Sherlock had made a breakthrough.

Lately he'd been experiencing these tiny fluttering feelings in his stomach and his pulse accelerated more than usual. This in itself was curious. However, Sherlock's curiosity increased when, all of a sudden, he realised this only happened around John. Perplexed, he'd decided to execute and experiment and discover what was causing this strange phenomenon. So, as they sat down for breakfast that morning (for Sherlock, a rarity) and John settled into his seat (back straight, feet together, paper perfectly folded) and Sherlock felt the oncoming fluttering, he discreetly drew a syringe from his pocket and took a blood sample. Later, on examining said sample, he found samples of the chemicals norepinephrine, oxytocin and testosterone, which would explain the accelerated heartbeat, sweaty palms and, the thing that puzzled Sherlock the most, a desire to touch John. Not necessarily sexually, but just a hug, a stroke of the hair...but that wasn't the point.

The point was all of these chemicals are found present when the subject is in (Sherlock shuddered again) _love. _Immediately Sherlock's head is filled with images of boys and girls kissing on park benches and holding hands. But then he imposed John in these pictures and he didn't mind the notion of romance so much. After much meditation and about 3 nicotine patches, he'd come to the conclusion there was only one way to end this 'case'.

Tell John.

He was a doctor, wasn't he? He could assume a professional demeanour and proceed in a doctoral way. Maybe he would have medicine to numb the chemicals. Highly unlikely, but you never know. But did he want the problem resolved? That was the one variable that Sherlock could not fathom.

**John trudged up the steps to the glossy black door of 221b. There were still marks where the door had been kicked in during 'The Scandal in Belgravia'. John smiled at the memory of the adventures they had, but frowned when he thought of Irene Adler. A strange feeling came over him akin to jealousy whenever he thought of The Woman, although he didn't know why. Shrugging off the unwanted thoughts, he unlocked the door with a creak and ascended the stairs, thanking Sherlock for the millionth time for curing his PTSD. After entering the flat, he was greeted with the sight of Sherlock pacing irritably around his seat. The detective looked up with a troubled expression at the doorway, but his face cleared after noticing it was him.**

"**John!" he exclaimed. John was taken aback by his flatmate's vigour.**

"**Sherlock!" he replied, placing groceries on the table. "Why are you so happy to see me?" he smirked, turning around. To his surprise Sherlock had moved silently behind him and they were now almost nose to nose. John let out a breath. His pulse was elevated, and his stomach was doing somersaults. Sherlock's eyes moved over John taking in every inch of his face. He frowned. **

"**So you feel it too?" he murmured. John gained control of his breathing enough to ask,**

"**Feel what?" Sherlock sighed, his breath wafting over John. There goes the control. He started to breathe a little faster as Sherlock explained about his experiments to John: the blood, the chemicals and finally what they made up.**

"**Love, John. It's the chemical formula for love. And I was wondering…" he trailed off, seemingly to be thinking.**

What did he say? If he put it all on the line without being sure… He'd have to take a blood sample. But no, that would be what John called 'insensitive'. Hmmm. Tricky. But what if he said just how he felt. What did he feel? Ugh, why was it so difficult, he groaned inwardly. With anyone else he could deduce what they'd had for breakfast two weeks ago, but john…John was different. There was only one way…

**John only had to wait about three seconds before Sherlock asked the question,**

"**Do you have a cure?" Immediately the tension broke and John's laughter filled the tiny kitchen. He looked at his flatmate incredulously.**

"**No, Sherlock. There's no cure for love." A look of disappointment showed on the face of the Great Sherlock Holmes. "Then what makes it stop hurting? I've already tried nicotine patches. And analysing body parts didn't help either…"**

**The tension was slowly gathering around back around them in clouds now, lacing their thoughts together as they finally both became aware of their…whatever this was. Suddenly all John could focus on was the grey of Sherlock's eyes and the smell of his breath. He nudged his nose forward the tiniest amount so their lips were almost touching. All one of them had to do was tilt their chin forward and…**

"Hoo-hoo." Mrs Hudson chirruped in the door. Sherlock moved quickly from the kitchen and swooped into his room. _What had he been doing? _Why on earth had he given in to such primitive desires. He thought he'd deleted those ages ago. To think that they were _still_ present in his DNA was a highly disturbing fact. More so now that they had something that stimulated them: John.

John. He'd left him out there with Mrs Hudson. Knowing the human mind better than the human consciousness, Sherlock began to list the things the land lady would pick up on; sweaty palms, accelerated breathing, dilated pupils. The woman was smarter than he ever gave her credit for and besides, even Anderson could see what was happening now. What _was _happening? All Sherlock knew was that the chemicals were still whizzing through his body at an unfathomable rate. A part of his brain told him he should be precise about the speed, but he paid no attention to it. His body throbbed with adrenaline and made his brain confused and fuzzy. The hormones still raged and were greatly increased by John bursting through his bedroom door.

**Mrs Hudson had come up to check if everyone was ok. She'd heard the groceries hit the bench and then just silence. Worry. John couldn't blame her I guess, but he could blame her impeccable timing. His head thundered with thoughts of denial (**_**I'm NOT gay!), **_**lust (**_**Oh, God, I AM.) **_**and anger (**_**Mrs Hudson, damn it). **_**However, once the landlady left, John gathered his thoughts and added up past events and his reactions to them. First, Sherlock with Irene: Jealousy. Second: Moriarty with Sherlock: Also jealousy (He knows, but still) and thirdly, the night they staked out the cabbie. The awkward silence between them had been the start, John realised. **_**The start of what? **_**John smiled. The start of the chemicals.**

**He burst through Sherlock's door, causing the detective to turn sharply to face his attacker. On seeing it was John, the sharp features softened and without a word the two ran towards each other and embraced, passionate at first; their fingers running through the other's hair, holding any part they could. John had lost all control of any previous inhibitions and tried to touch every part of Sherlock, who he now realised was the only man he would ever love. Love. John smiled against Sherlock's neck, thanking that precise order of chemicals for making him as happy as he was now. After the initial adrenaline and passion died down enough for the two men to lie together quietly, John took the opportunity to do something he'd always wanted to- love or no love. He took his worn old hand and messed up Sherlock's usually perfect hair as much as he possibly could. Grinning broadly, he looked at the detectives scowl.**

" **Why?" he growled deeply. The voice gave John shivers all down his spine. Sherlock observed and moved closer so that they were now fully entwined, assuming he was cold; but John wasn't going to correct him. **

"**Because I've always wanted to. Sherlock, I've always wanted **_**this.**_**" Evidently by the look on his face, Sherlock (as well as John) had never fully realised this. But the consulting detective had already regained his composure, stroked John's hair lovingly and responded confidently,**

"Me too, John."


End file.
